It occurs to the Ignoble Poet that all things are shit

We are many; us word beating priests of piss.

Cracking verse on a smoke ridden page

Death to all flower poems, and words about birds


Deftly we abandon the traditional iambic

The pentameter of ten can crash and burn

Structure will not decry our view

Of a world in need of absolute horror


We are many, as we have said. Poets

Against structure. Sadness has needs

Get drunk dear reader, or give up now

We care not for your worthy goals


Life is the same for every man, eventually

We die. Nobody will remember rhyme or verse

It must be clear by now that the rules are gone

In the new form of bollocks and honesty.


We give a fuck enough to be sincere.

3 thoughts on “The Ignoble Poet

  1. The one thing we are promised from birth is death, and when that time arives we take nothing we collected on the way with us.

    I enjoyed reading this. Do you mind me asking what inspired it?

  2. I wish I could remember what inspired it. I think it was the combination of a desire to make poetry that goes against what people generally expect and the consumption of a large quantity of whisky.

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